Helping Hand
by smilelaughread
Summary: Neville is not feeling his best, torn between a broken family and no job. He hasn't got anyone there for him... until someone offers him a helping hand. Written for 100k challenge at HPFC
1. Sightings

The scratch of a quill on parchment was the only sound in the small office for a few awkward minutes. He took the opportunity to look around, subtly trying to wipe his moist hands on his pant legs. He was sure that his face was completely red and shiny, perspiration gathering on his brow after the fifth consecutive minute of near silence.

He hated the decorated office, all posh with its matching couch cushions and floor rug, tasteful artistic pieces hung up on the walls, and fancy paperweights displayed on many surfaces. He watched as the clock on the wall, ticking loudly - too loudly, it seemed - appeared to go on forever. He fancied that he could sit there, and that he would, waiting and watching time slip by.

The waiting seemed to stretch on for ages, making each passing second feel like a year, and Neville felt trapped. The room was hot and stifling, despite the cool day that was going on outside. He didn't want to continue looking at the walls, the ornaments, the room's different accessories.

All he wanted to do was either fall through the floor, never to be seen again, or to be let out of the office to breathe in some fresh, clean air. He knew bad news was forthcoming – who would truly want to hire him? – and didn't want to wait any longer to hear it. It was all a waste of time.

The writing stopped, and Neville's hopes soared. Unfortunately, the pause was only temporary and he was forced to sit there longer. At some point that might have been years later for all Neville could tell, the man finished up and placed the ostentatious eagle feather quill onto the heavy mahogany desk. There were few things littering the surface of the desk and no visible marks marred the expensive table.

Neville looked everywhere but at the man interviewing him for a job - one he desperately needed, no matter what he told anyone who asked - too nervous to look him in the eye. He felt twitchy, uncomfortable, and very inadequate. The man was probably going to have a good laugh at Neville's antics later that day, after he was brutally and cruelly thrown from the office.

Mustering up some courage, Neville said, with caution, "Thank you for the opportunity," he shook subtly and hoped the wavering in his tone was not as noticeable as it was mortifying, though that wouldn't be saying much either way. The intensity of his potential future employer's gaze unnerved him, but he fought to drudge up the best of his Gryffindor bravery reserves. "The information to contact me is on the application, but- I mean..." He trailed off, unsure. "Of course, if I'm not fit for the job..." He stopped there, helplessly gazing at the man who was around his age – around twenty years of age or so to Neville's nineteen and a half - but looked years older simply for his unwavering gaze and the sureness with which he executed his actions.

"Yes, thank you, Neville Longbottom. We'll be in touch, I assure you. Many thanks are sent your way for supporting our new company, and I must say you seem to have the qualifications to be our new Herbology Head. The exit is through the right," The man pointed off to the side, and Neville nodded back meekly. "Is Floo call alright, or would owls be preferred?"

"Either is good… I mean, I don't want to tell you what to- Thank you, anyway," he said, for what had to be the hundredth time in the short, twenty-minute interview. He then turned and made his way to the door. His hands rubbed at his clothing, trying to rid themselves of the moisture.

Neville let out a heavy breath as the heavy wooden doors closed with a whoosh behind him. He had heard the finality in those stony, professional, clipped tones, and he knew he would not be getting a floo call or owl notice anytime soon. It was a pity that this interview, the conclusion of a good fifteen job applications he'd filled out, should play out as the others had. He supposed it was his own fault, however, for making such a fool of himself at each one.

Stepping out onto the noisy street of Diagon Alley, hidden behind a few fruit stands at which some witches were also selling their "special" attraction powder ("Can make any man feel attracted for you so that you can lure him in and snap around him," they said. "Perfectly legal and will work until he knows you well enough to truly love you,"). He scoffed at the idea, wondering idly if their business really was legal, after all. It was too close to the entrance to Knockturn Alley to be fully sure.

A flash of light on white-blond hair caught his eye. It was a slight individual, a woman he guessed. The figure was just visible, going into some store or another. She briefly caught his eye, way across the crowded street, and Neville felt as though his soul was being displayed, bare, to her.

He recognised the girl now, despairing silently as the connection was lost when she turned away, as Luna Lovegood. He remembered her antics in Hogwarts, her bravery in the battles, and the DA meetings they'd attended together.

But those days were over and the scars of war stretched the space between them. Neville had no wish to ever reconnect with his group from Hogwarts aside from the occasional drink he shared with Harry and Ron, sometimes Seamus. He always found himself feeling terribly self-conscious, knowing he was the responsible one and that they didn't expect much from him.

They all seemed so sure of themselves; something Neville didn't know how to be.

He thought about Hogwarts with some remorse. If only he had learned to stick up for himself all those years ago, maybe developed some self-confidence-

A tiny creature bumped into his leg, a girl barely older than six years old, he assumed. "I'm sorry," he muttered out of habit, reaching out to catch the young girl. The girl grabbed onto him, and he held her tightly in fear that she would also tug him over.

Another woman, her mother most likely, pushed out of the crowd in front of him. She passed critical eyes over Neville, eyes tightening and lips thinning. "That will be all, sir. Unhand my daughter,"

"I-I..." Neville lurched back, startled and frightened by her reaction. He tried and failed to find the right words to describe exactly what he'd been doing, choosing to step back and wait for whatever was to come. The girl had detached herself from him, something he was grateful for, but still he stumbled.

When nothing appeared forthcoming, Neville relaxed minutely, nervously playing with the fabric of his robe that was bunched up at his hip.

"If I may remind you to continue moving?" the woman was acerbic and sharp-tongued, it appeared, or maybe simply very protective of her daughter.

Once again, Neville tried to clear the predicament up. "I wasn't going to do anything, Madame. I... She... It's..." His throat felt scratch and his stomach knotted. "I'm sorry, I will go."

He all but scurried off, rushing past but trying not to jostle the passers-by. He heard the young girl speak just before he stepped out of earshot and the chatter of the crowd drowned her out. "Mummy," she said. "He was a nice man, he caught me so I wouldn't fall. Why were you so mean to him?"

He didn't get to hear the response to the question, but suspected it was simply that he'd let her walk all over him without protesting or acting with poise. What an idiot he was to get all tongue-tied when he was fully innocent. How was it that a girl just over a quarter of his age could freely speak her mind when he couldn't?

_Idiot, idiot, idiot._ Fumbling, bumbling Longbottom who can't manage to do anything right.

Why was he so incompetent, unable to do that which was basic to most humans: speak. It was why no one liked him; he was so generally awkward, insecure, and simply shy that no one wanted anything to do with him in a social situation. It was also why he couldn't keep a job and found it difficult to find one. Severus Snape had pinned him for the person he was way back in first year, a dunderhead that broke everything he laid eyes on.

It was also why he chose to spend many of his nights holed up in a secluded corner of a bar - either wizard or muggle, it made little difference to him- getting hammered enough to forget his inadequacies. He had to admit that wizarding bars were what he leaned towards, for the alcohol was stronger and perhaps magically altered to be just _that_ much faster at entering his bloodstream, but in those darkened, little places he always seemed to run into someone he'd once known, and he absolutely hated it.

He forcibly pushed those thoughts away, thinking of anything and everything else in order to do so. Luna came back to the forefront of his mind, both chilling him to the bone and giving him some strength. It was strange, but everything in the Wizarding World was; Neville was used to it.

Neville hurried to a floo point, too distressed to apparate clearly and worried he'd muddle it up (like most things in his life, he thought), and took a pinch of the familiar powder. He threw it in, shouting his destination as he stepped in.

His voice wavered just slightly, but not too embarrassingly, as he said, "St. Mungo's Hospital, visitors' entrance,"

Neville, nerves shot, arrived back at his home of several years - he'd begun to rent the place out after the war ended and life began to, miraculously, continue. His breathing was quickened, as though he'd just run a sprint and not visited his family in the hospital, as he had. His heart thumped out a staccato rhythm against his ribs and he felt like he might fall into a deep sleep or a fit of crying at any given moment. He hated the hospital, absolutely loathed it.

He suspected that was never going to become better, as he had always hated the smell of antiseptic, the cleanliness that was evident in every little nook of the hospital. There was not one spot that hadn't been at least magically cleaned in the recent past, and he could no longer take a breath of hospital air before seeing his parents in his mind's eye. Though he'd never had clear memories of them, Neville hated that the only connection his mind made to them was through the smells and sights of the hospital wing.

He hated that after everything he and his family had been through; it was the smell of the hospital that brought memories forth and them together.

Melancholy after a day of rejections, sadness, and disappointment, Neville searched through his refrigerator for anything he might be able to ingest. His stomach growled almost in agreement with his brain, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the small, barely substantial breakfast that morning. It was a Friday and the end of a depressing week; not one of the many jobs he'd applied for had seemed even remotely promising.

The hospital had completely shattered his spotty – but usually there – optimism. He suspected he'd be out before the night even truly fell, a pathetic way to spend his Friday night.

It wasn't like he had a girlfriend, for after the war his life had been filled with different problems that had needed to be seen to. First, he'd sorted out his living arrangements and some monetary issues. He'd had to go to Hogwarts for one semester to sit his NEWTs, as technically he had already attended part of his seventh year.

To be truthful, Neville had done fairly well in everything but in Potions, in which he had gotten average marks. One thing that'd marred his ecstatic reaction to the news had been that there was no one to share it with. That reminder had been a sobering one.

Life had passed as a blur from there – both dragging on like nothing else and passing in the space of a heartbeat – and he'd turned nineteen in what seemed like barely a blink. There had been many occasions at which it had been requested he provide a testimony on behalf of or against a suspected criminal – at least five incidents at which he had made a complete arse of himself in front of the Wizengamot.

There had also been a variety of different problems with his family's placement in new hospital wings.

All in all, the time at Hogwarts after the war had been the highlight of his post-war memories.

But it'd been over half a year since he had successfully completed his final exams, and he was desperate for something to break him out of whatever it was that loomed over his head, casting dark shadows on everything he did.

Throughout the next week, Neville continued to seek job offers and attend different interviews. He also tried to find offers for an apprenticeship, but they were in demand and difficult to find. The war had completely disrupted the balance there had been between Master and Apprentice numbers.

That wasn't to say he didn't try; he visited Diagon Alley and even Hogsmeade on one opportunity to find work.

He didn't have much luck, finding that he wasn't really focused on getting a job. He needed one, fearing a notice from his flat's owner, the man he was renting the space from. However, curiously enough, he found that the interviews were barely blips on his radar. The moment his heart began speeding up was after it was over and he'd gotten the hidden dismissal, when he stepped onto the busy street.

His eyes always seemed to want to move towards _Rare Potions and Books, Ancient Remedies_ – a local medicinal potions store where they sold a variety of healing equipment of the potions variety as well as rare ingredients – the place he'd seen that flash of sun on platinum hair.

It was strange and Neville rarely wanted to think on it, but he acknowledged it nonetheless. There was a strange feeling that arose when he saw her step out on two more opportunities, noticing him amongst the writhing mass of shoppers that couldn't seem to begin their holiday gift hunting early enough.

She looked wonderful, if very fragile. Neville was not one to deny the beauty of another, and he had to say she was stunning. She was almost ethereal, looking otherworldly when in the bright sunlight, seeking him out with those all-knowing eyes. But Neville knew he couldn't set himself up for anything that was bound never to happen.

He had faced disappointment many a time, and he wasn't about to pretend what she did was anything more than it was. She was recognising an old friend, nothing more.

Who knew, maybe she couldn't even identify him, knowing she knew him but having forgotten how. Neville convinced himself he didn't care, trying to forget his curiosity at her presence at Diagon Alley and the way she almost shimmered with power and energy.

For some reason, she was one of the only things he found he looked forward to. That spoke volumes about how pathetic his life was, that the only small sliver of happiness he could find was the odd sighting of the elusive Luna Lovegood.

Friday arrived once again and, once again, he sat himself down in the local Wizarding bar – Poison – and proceeded to try and get himself to forget the way she was still wearing those quirky radish earrings he remembered from their Hogwarts years. She had to be pushed out of his mind. He remembered that everything that had ever really meant anything to him was gone: Hogwarts was over for him, his family was torn apart, and many of his friends were dead or on the brink of being so. He had no job, a terrible flat, and no one to share his problems with. He could not let her be just another thing that he had once had, only to be ripped out of his hands.

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**This chapter had a lot of angsty!Neville. It will get better... I hope.**

**Let me know what you think in a review!**

**This is being written for the 100k challenge at HPFC**


	2. Out of the Blue

Neville was mostly successful in ridding his mind of Luna Lovegood, the strange but beautiful woman that had taken residence there. She was stuck in his thoughts – and dreams, if he was being truthful – until the early weeks of December, when the first snowfall covered the ground with a powdery blanket of cold.

Freezing, despite his thick and heavy robes, Neville stepped into St. Mungo's. He was very nearly too late to come in – visiting hours ended around ten, leaving him about a half hour window of time to finish what he had come for – but the head Healer recognised him and let him in with no fuss.

"… I swear, that man was the most beautiful I have ever seen!" She nodded enthusiastically, throwing her head back in riotous laughter at whatever her friend – in a much quieter, subdued voice – said in response. She continued babbling excitedly, loud and happy tones permeating the air. And then she noticed him and said, "Hello, Neville." She watched him with eyes that spoke volumes – she wanted to continue gossiping – and felt uncomfortable at knowing he had interrupted their conversation. A good one, if her tone had been any indication.

Then again, she might always speak like that, just not around Neville, who always seemed to bring peoples' spirits down.

"Hello, Healer Karing," answered Neville quietly, nodding at the other, unfamiliar, nurse in passing. He sidestepped them, pushing the door to the ward open. Immediately, the scent of antiseptic and _clean_ filled his nose, making him feel slightly nauseated. The smell was an uncomfortably stifling one, and he wished he could be anywhere else. Neville greeted a few of the other standard Healers he met on almost every occasion he visited, inclining his head in acknowledgment. He felt highly uncomfortable, worrying he would get even the basic, "Hello," wrong.

The ward was silent but for the whirring of some machines he didn't know the names of. Everything was white, bright, rounded out – to prevent injuries – and carefully planned out. The ward appeared entirely under control, there in the corridor. He didn't know what went on in the individual, semi-silenced rooms.

Worrying at a hangnail on his thumb and then sticking it in his mouth as he accidentally made it bleed in his uneasiness, Neville pushed the door of his parents' room open. There was no movement at first glance, but then again there never was, and he heard the soft _whoosh_ and _click_ as the door shut behind him.

"Mum, dad?" Neville called out, feeling extremely self-conscious despite being all but alone, in a room with two people that couldn't speak or move freely.

There was no response from his dad – who hadn't been lucid in weeks, Neville thought – but his mother made a soft, encouraging sound.

As he approached their cots, he took in the sight he had become accustomed to over his many years and innumerable visits. His mother lay there, looking frail, too skinny, unfocused, and confused. His father… it pained Neville to look at his father some days. He looked so weak and unable to defend himself. If only he had known how to, all those years ago…

They had been members of the Order. They had been skilled enough in magic to make their way in the Wizarding world.

They had been to Hogwarts, met there, fallen in love, gotten married, had their future planned out to the tee, or so some of his parents' friends told him.

And then… this.

Nothing.

Neville slumped down into the solitary chair in between their two cots. He took one of their hands in each of his, connecting the Longbottom family. But other than the slight heat emanating from their hands, there was no indication they were even alive.

As it always eventually happened, Neville's eyes brimmed with tears, hot guilt pooling there and threatening to spill over.

"Mum, are you awake?" A soft murmur escaped her lips, unintelligible and likely not anything coherent, anyway. Neville took it as confirmation that she was listening, hoping beyond all hope that she really was. "I hope you're feeling slightly better, mum. The Healers only now took you off of the blood-replenishing potion, after nearly three months. It's wonderful that your body seems to be functioning on its own, once again. They're hoping you don't relapse and seem confident that you're slowly getting a bit stronger. I'm so proud,"

No response; a hollow pain made itself known in his chest.

Tearful, he continued, turning his head the other way. "Dad… I don't know what to say. They say your condition is deteriorating still, that you may be in pain and unable to express it. They tell me we should take you off of the potions that are keeping you alive, to spare you the pain you may be feeling. Your brain activity has also been low, but I know you're listening, right? I don't want to let you die, you know."

Again, the still silence was his only answer.

"I need someone to tell me what to do; tell me, dad!" He despaired quietly. "I can't make these decisions; please help me."

Sniffling, he squeezed their hands tightly, despite the knowledge that he could easily snap their bones with a particularly firm grip. He would never do such a thing, of course, but it was a frightening possibility.

"I don't know what to do with my life anymore," he said, unloading his worries on the barely-conscious woman that was his mother and the oblivious, lifeless man that was his father. "Today I got my eviction notice, just like I knew I would. I don't know what I'm going to do," All he really wanted to do was stick his head in the sand and forget about everything. Ignore everyone and… life itself. "I have no job, either. I am entirely broke and have nowhere to go. I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but know that I had no choice for what I spent my money on."

He released his hold on his mother's hand for a second to wipe the tears away, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself.

"I wish you two would answer me," he said to no one. "I wish I knew for sure you recognised me."

He reasserted his connection to his mother and continued.

"Sometimes I come in here and you two look awake, almost like you understand everything and are aware of your surroundings. You would not believe the hope I feel on those days, only to step in and have you start screaming because you think I will hurt you. Sometimes, you let me in but look at me like you don't recognise your only son," Those days were the worst, with the garbled yelling filling his ears and ripping his heart apart just a little more.

"But-" He composed himself, closing his eyes and letting the last tear fall before firmly telling himself he would finish with the snivelling. "I won't moan on about my life any longer; I don't want to distress you."

He traced circles on the palms of their hands, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to leave and face the second part of his trip to St. Mungo's, and wracked his brains for what else to say.

"I haven't been out lately with any friends," he said quietly, nervously. "But I did see an old school acquaintance – Luna Lovegood. I'm sure I've told you about her already, if you remember anything. She's a unique individual, that's for sure. I don't think there will ever be anyone quite like her. I've seen her around Diagon Alley a few times in the past weeks for the first time since I graduated and finished my NEWTs. I am thinking of going to speak with her, just to see if she remembers me. I think it would be nice to catch up, expand my circle of friends. People are always telling me to be more social…"

He trailed off, stuck and at a loss for what to say. He didn't want to leave, but he didn't have much else to speak of.

"I was never best friends with her, but she was there at the Battle at the Ministry, if you remember my story about that… We have spoken, and were both in the DA. She's quite beautiful, I have to say."

Neville blushed slightly, surprised he had said it but knowing it was not a lie.

Patting their hands idly, Neville sat in the heavy silence that shrouded them. He was still for a few minutes, by his count, putting off the inevitable.

"Do me a favour, you two," he said with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "That you'll mind your Healers and eat your vegetables, yeah?"

He leaned down to kiss his parents on their cheeks, feeling tearful – as he did every time he said goodbye, never knowing if it would be the last time – and smiled a watery smile.

"I'll see you two again tomorrow," he promised, trying to fit false enthusiasm into his tone. "Feel better!"

All in all, maybe fifteen minutes had passed, but Neville felt drained. He both treasured and hated his trips to the hospital. The time he got to spend with his parents was bittersweet, with him enjoying the fact that he could share things with them but hurting terribly because there was no conversation. It was all monologue and hoping desperately that they would one day respond. The hope was fading every day, as his father's condition weakened and his mother's changed little, healing and relapsing and then doing so again.

He hurried up the stairs, aware that he had little time for his second visit. The mood was increasingly more sombre as he pushed open the doors to another, louder, wing of the hospital.

"Hello," said the woman at the front desk without looking up from the piles of paperwork stacked on her desk. "Welcome to the Severe Curse Damage ward of St. Mungo's hospital. Remember visiting hours are only until-"

Neville walked past with a mumbled, "I know,"

~8~8~8~8~

Much later, Neville returned to his flat. He hadn't gone out for a drink, as much as the idea had appealed to him, just for a walk around Diagon Alley. If he was truthful to himself, he had been hoping to spot Luna. He had tried his hardest to get her out of his mind, but the conversation with his parents – if it could really be called that – had returned her to his thoughts.

He despaired momentarily at the boxes he had packed and begun to shrink, full of the things he had slowly accumulated over his life. Clothing, books, assorted knick-knacks, presents he'd received on his birthdays, and other mementos from his life that held meaning to him.

Though the flat had never been particularly homey and cozy, Neville found that the stripped-bare walls depressed him, as did the empty cupboards, and clutter-free counters. The bathroom looked cold, with nothing lying on the counter, taking up space, and his bed looked less than inviting, with the room empty of colour and warmth.

His fireplace flared a bright green colour, alerting him that he had a Floo call from someone. Curious, he all but ran to it, fearing news from St. Mungo's, and knelt in front of the fire.

Muttering the counter-charm to the safety wards, he called out, "Who's there?"

It was someone the wards did not recognise, putting Neville on guard. On the one hand, he knew it couldn't be the hospital, which quietened his racing heart, but on the other frightened him. Who could be calling so late… and why?

Wand raised and at the ready, he waited for the response.

To his immense surprise, Luna's head emerged from the flames. His eyes widened.

"Hello, Neville," she greeted, as though it were something that occurred often and they were fast friends, the late-night call nothing to worry about. "How are you today?"

He was still silent, having been struck mute by her startling appearance.

"Luna-" He stuttered, stumbling over his words. "What do you- How did you- I saw you…" He gave up after the third or fourth try, shrugging at her, in a daze.

"Would you be a dear and let me in?" She asked, filling Neville with fear brought on by her overbearing presumptuousness. Of course, she was just being Luna, but it disquieted him.

He shook his head nervously, also acutely aware what a mess his flat was and uneasy with the idea of her seeing, displayed with the clutter, the disarray and disorder that filled his life. "I- How can I be sure it's really you?" He hedged, trying not to sound overly rude or short and feeling as though his attempt fell short.

She smiled warmly at him, picking up on his insecurity immediately and toning her eagerness and energy down a bit. "Simply ask me a question that only I would know the answer to," she said. Her voice was lovely, he found, struggling to keep up with this unanticipated turn of events. His mind filled in the colour that the fire took away; bright blue eyes, full of unanswered questions and curiosity, the pale skin, the long eyelashes that framed her eyes…

"Er… who was the one that suggested we use Thestrals?" He left the question ambiguous, as – if it really was Luna – she should understand.

Luna nodded indulgently at him, a wide smile pasted on her face. "I did, on our way to the Ministry of Magic, in our fifth year. It was with Ginny, Harry, Hermione, Ron, you, and me."

He nodded, convinced by her long and accurate description.

"Why don't you want to let me in?" She sounded slightly hurt, though it could have been the fire that was known to distort voices on occasion, when the connection was wobbly and not enough Floo Powder had been used.

Neville's eyes grew wide; being put on the spot was not an enjoyable experience for him, and he stumbled over his words, as usual. "It's not that I don't- You're a nice person – But… I don't – it's a mess – Not fit for company, I think…"

"Would you like to come through to my place?" Luna asked kindly, eyebrows wrinkling minutely at his reluctance. "It's the day of the Trembling Hurdler, you know." Luna added, rather off-topic. "The animal that signifies change, I've read," she continued, sounding very sure of herself. "I wanted to honour it by mustering up the courage to speak to you." He thought he saw a slight pink of a blush crawl up to her cheeks, but it could have just been the red of the fire. "Will you celebrate with me?"

Neville wanted to refuse; he could cite his responsibility to pack his things, the worry he had over finding a new place to stay, or even say that he wasn't feeling his best. Try as he might, however, something about her inquiring, beseeching look made him reconsider.

After all, it was the day of the… Trembling thingy, wasn't it? What kind of a person would he be if he refused to celebrate with her? It would be direct disrespect to her requests and beliefs, as wacky as they sometimes were.

As his internal debate continued, Luna waited patiently for a reply, looking up at him with wide, intelligent, kind eyes. He was swayed for a moment, feeling breathless with the idea of leaving everything to spend time with her. But then reality came crashing back around his ears, reminding him that he had mere days to sort out his things in the flat, find a new one, and continue his search for a job.

"Luna," he started, fixing his gaze on hers. Almost instantly, he shifted his gaze away and looked at an obscure location just beside her, uncomfortable. "I don't think-"

He watched as her smile fell and something began to throb inside of him, burning him with renewed desire to make her happy. It was a strange, elusive feeling and Neville decided to follow it, no matter the consequences.

"I don't think I could refuse such a… such an offer." His voice faltered halfway through, hit with a wave of nervous energy as she perked up and sent him a dazzling smile.

Feeling entirely the reckless Gryffindor the Sorting Hat had named him, Neville picked up a pinch of Floo Powder, threw it into the flames, and shouted, "Lovegood residence, recall Floo Call location."

He decided he would ignore how drained he felt, the way a part of him wanted to curl up and fall asleep, and steeled himself for what was sure to come.

Stepping in and feeling the slight disorientation that came with Floo travel, Neville also felt his heart speed up. He had just – out of the blue! – been invited to Luna Lovegood's house… and agreed to go! His palms got slightly moist the way they always did when he began to feel that overpowering sense of anxiety that seemed to follow him wherever he went, like a storm cloud charmed to loom over him, always.

It was slightly different – this feeling – with the butterflies taking residence lower in his stomach and his heart pounding with a kind of eagerness he couldn't place.

Before further opportunity to analyse, Neville landed on the ground in front of Luna, ever the face of outstanding balancing and coordination skills.

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**Voila, the second chapter of Helping Hand. I hope it was less angsty, as I'd promised, but I suspect not. Also, in case anyone was wondering, the Trembling Hurdler is a terrible name for an animal I came up with that is a cross between a butterfly and a frog, two animals that supposedly signify change. Don't hate me for my terrible names... hehe.**

**As always, leave me a review to tell me what you think! :) ****The next chapter should be up quicker than this one was.**


	3. What Did You Say?

Neville stood up after exiting the fireplace less than elegantly. He tried to compose himself and brush the soot off of his robes, but startled when he realized his nose was only centimeters away from Luna's. Her deep, blue-grey eyes were focused on his yet she said nothing.

He scrambled to straighten and step back. Instead of doing what his brain commanded, his limbs chose to make him stumble over his own feet.

"Oh-sorry," He felt a blush rise on his cheeks. Something behind him came loose and fell down to the floor with a clatter. It shattered as it hit the ground, and Neville felt terrible. He didn't know what to say, other than, "Sorry," once again.

She shrugged, "The grocer's was closed today," she said.

He tried to brush the soot off of his robes as he puzzled through her statement. Though they were black and it was generally unnoticeable, the blackened dust made his nose tingle.

"Ah," said Neville, unable to see any relevance to her statement. "What does that mean, exactly?"

She gave him a look that conveyed her disappointment in his inability to understand her. "I have nothing to offer you - to eat." she said. "Would you like some tea?"

He nodded. Luna gestured somewhere off to the side, toward a very multi-coloured sofa that looked very comfortable. Neville smiled, "I'd like that."

As she turned, he chanced a glance around the room and settled into his seat.

It was a nearly circular room, with anything one could possibly imagine hanging off of the walls. There were stuffed, preserved heads of animals he could not recognize, a large bookshelf that was three times as tall as it was wide.

He wondered how anyone could reach the top shelf.

There were a variety of different paintings and art pieces on the wall, though they were a bit eccentric. Rather like Luna, he reasoned.

The room itself seemed to radiate out from the table in the middle.

As he continued his silent scanning of the room, hearing the odd clatter from Luna, Neville noticed the room was set up in quarters. One quarter had the stove and all the kitchen-y things one would expect there. Then, in the next quarter, there was the fireplace against the wall and the sofa Neville sat on.

In the next was the bookshelf and a remarkably serious-looking carpet that looked entirely out of place there. In the last quarter… there was nothing. The walls were colourless and the floor was a white tile. Neville wondered what it was for, and left himself a mental note to inquire about it later.

He'd heard that the house had been partially ruined sometime during the war, but there was little evidence of that. In fact, the house looked entirely whole. Rather homey, other than the strange section that reminded him a bit of the hospital with it's abnormally bright white colour.

The other walls were a mix of reds, yellows, and blues, a true assault on the senses, but the colours added to the delightfully comfortable feel of the space. Since Neville had never really had a chance to live with his family, a thought that forced him to swallow a wave of sadness, he asked, "Did your mum paint all of these… flowers and animals, Luna?"

She froze above the stove, the song she had been humming fading into the air, and she turned slowly. Her eyes, usually starry and unfocused, were intense and seemed to stare straight into his soul. Neville wondered what he'd said.

Immediately, he began to backtrack, his sense of self-preservation rising to the surface at her sad look. "I'm sorry, Luna. I know what happened to your mother, and I really shouldn't have asked…"

She smiled lightly at him, though Neville could see that he'd reminded her of painful things.

Ever the bumbling moron, Neville continued. "Really, I know how you feel. My parents, while not… dead – they aren't really alive, either. I'm really sorry."

By the end of his awkward, little monologue, one he would cringe about upon reflection, Luna had turned back to the stove.

Neville twiddled his thumbs, feeling nervous. He ran his fingers through his hair and then wiped his palms on his legs. Why had it seemed to be such a good idea to visit Luna, again? He had spent time with her in the DA, his fifth year being the peak year of their interactions. Then, in seventh year, they had spoken a few times. As the girl was better friends with Ginny than with him, they had mainly worked together through her. Then, after the Hols, she'd been taken captive by the Death Eaters… and nothing after that.

Neville noticed, for the first time, that she hadn't been at Hogwarts for her seventh year. There was a slight rush of embarrassment at completely forgetting her, but he had been under too much pressure to notice such details at the time.

"Do you know any good fireplace cleaners?" Luna asked finally, turning to him and leaning back against a counter.

"Er-" Neville wracked his brains for an answer that would be suitable.

She shook her hand at him, "Don't worry, Neville. I'm sure we'll find someone to call."

He had thought that he'd gotten over the initial complete and utter confusion one experienced when speaking with Luna, but he found that he was wrong. He had never been more wrong, in fact. Neville felt lost with the conversation.

"You know, I dried the limmp-root leaves out myself."

"What are… limmp-roots, exactly?" He asked, wondering what had happened to their line of conversation.

She turned around, hands waving about as she retrieved the kettle and a few teacups. "Oh," she said, sounding mortally wounded. "You haven't heard of them? They're quite beneficial for your liver. Very hard to breed and grow, however…"

Neville, interested in Herbology as he was, continued the line of questioning. "What plants were combined for the plant, Luna? Does it have any medicinal properties… other than, er, being good for the liver?"

She shook her head at him, looking sorrowful, as if the fact that he'd never heard of such a plant caused great unrest and distress. "Father has a book that explains it; he wrote it, you know." She took on a more spacey look, staring off into the distance with a slight crease between her eyebrows. "I didn't help him grow it."

They sat in relative silence while the water boiled, with Luna offering random comments every so often.

"Your hair looks particularly clean today, Neville," she commented. "Did you have another job interview?"

Neville's eyes widened and his hand instinctively lifted to run through his hair. Fully confused, he shrugged. He decided not to answer her strange question.

"You'll get a job soon." Her voice had more confidence than Neville could ever have; it was almost as though she knew it for certain.

He furrowed his brows. "How could you possibly know that?"

She shrugged, "It's obvious," she offered.

"Ah…" Neville said. "So, er- Luna, how have you been since we last saw each other?"

She turned her back to him to tend to the water, adding what Neville assumed were the limmp-root leaves, and answered. "This and that," she said noncommittally. "I went to South America for a few months and found evidence of a long-lost cousin of the Blibbering Humdinger. Isn't it wonderful?"

Neville cleared his throat uncomfortably and decided not to answer. He vaguely remembered her magical animals, but certainly not enough to answer her with confidence.

A blanket of silence fell over them; stifling Neville and making him tug at the collar of his robe. He felt that familiar ball of nervousness land in his stomach, and he wanted to run. Run and never look back, if it was at all possible to do that. But he was stuck.

Her eyes were always watching even though her back was turned, full of knowledge. She kept him in place with idle comments and observations about things Neville had not known could be read through body language.

"Why are you feeling so much stress?" She asked.

He shrugged, "No reason. I don't want to burden you with my stories." He didn't feel comfortable enough to spill everything. Aything, actually. Not yet.

She plucked the kettle off of the heat and proceeded to pour a dark red liquid into an overly large teacup. She brought two back to where Neville was sitting, handing one to him. She smiled a carefree grin that lit up her features. Neville relaxed as he saw that, and hoped he hadn't muddled things up too badly with his inadequacy.

"You can never burden me, Neville. I have much more space for everything because I finally got rid of all those wrackspurts." She tapped at her head "They're very persistent, you see. Hard to remove. I think you don't feel comfortable around me because you're not yet used to being entirely free of wrackspurts. My father developed shields against them, you see." She patted his arm in support.

"Will you sit down?" Neville tried to sound kind, as though he felt bad sitting while she stood, but truthfully he was just uncomfortable with Luna towering over him.

"I will," Luna said noncommittally. She made no move to actually sit down.

"Oh," Neville said. Then, "This tea is wonderful, Luna!"

It was the truth. It was sour enough to please Neville's taste, and yet it had a sweetly bitter aftertaste. It smelled almost like apples, maybe a bit of nutmeg. A strangely solid-looking steam wafted up from the hot liquid, and Neville cupped the intricately decorated teacup in his hands.

Luna lit up at the comment, as though someone had turned on brilliant lights just behind her eyes. Her gaze sparkled and her smile was brilliant.

"Really, Neville?" She asked, sounding breathless. "You really think so?"

He nodded, feeling a warmth that he could not attribute to the strange tea wash through him at her giddy happiness.

They chatted for a few more minutes after that, mainly about topics Neville was not sure of, and exchanged stories that came after Hogwarts.

She explained that she'd finished her seventh year with a private tutor, though she clammed up when he asked why. She seemed to be trying to avoid the question, as she stood up quickly and asked if he wanted any more tea.

Neville glanced at the clock on the wall, shocked to see that it was past one in the morning. When had that happened?

She returned and began to talk about her trip to South America, speaking about a variety of creatures he had never heard of before and doubted really existed. Of course, he couldn't say that to her face, and stayed quiet, nodding and smiling.

"Luna," Neville hiccupped. "What did you do to this drink? My head's all… fuzzy." It was not like being drunk, something Neville had an embarrassing amount of experience with. Instead, he felt like he was floating, calm and relaxed. He could hardly string words together, and his movements were slow.

"Nothing," she said, looking unfocused and making a series of pointless arm movements. "It's just that limmp-root has the property of relaxing the muscles."

Neville's eyes widened. "What?" He shouted, shocked. "You should have told me! I can hardly get up now, and I have to go home and pack-" He stopped talking, aware that he'd said too much.

"Oh, don't worry. I know you have to move out." Luna said. At his bewildered, questioning stare, she said. "Oh, it was obvious by the way you walk. You're always scared, and I never see you buying things. It's logical, of course, that you will have nowhere to live soon."

Neville didn't know if that really was logical. "I see," he said. He decided that if it was logical enough for Luna, he wouldn't protest. Additionally, he felt a little lighter, knowing that someone other than his mum and dad knew of his financial condition.

"It's why I invited you over, today." She confessed. A fluttery laugh escaped her lips, not a giggle so much as an exhalation.

"Why?" Neville relaxed back into the seat, a heavy lethargy coming over him.

"Will you live with me, Neville?"

Silence.

Suddenly, the smell of the tea was too intense for him and he had to put the teacup down somewhere. A million thoughts ran through his head. Neville was thrown back into clear thought, struck sober by her crazy suggestion.

A frown tugged at his lips as he scrambled for something to say. "What are you talking about?"

She didn't seem perturbed in the least by his frantic change of demeanor, as though she hadn't even noticed it. "I want you to move in with me," she said matter-of-factly.

His eyes widened, "How? What-? Why me?"

She shrugged.

Neville was speechless.

"I want to help you," her honesty was both appreciated by Neville and pushed him further into complete shock.

"H-How would you – Why – We haven't…. since Hogwarts! Live with you…"

Neville wanted to bury himself in a hole, in a cave, on a secluded island, far away from human development. His stuttering was back with a vengeance, and he couldn't seem to fit a sentence together.

"We _are_ friends," she pointed out, silencing his protests, both internal and external. The beseeching look she was sending him made his insides ache, and he felt strangely plain in her presence. "And friends help friends."

There was a longing in her voice, a hidden loneliness that Neville felt a kinship to. He wondered if the tea was addling his senses, and if this was all a rather vivid hallucination.

"I've seen you looking for a job, Neville," her voice was little more than a whisper, all joking and mystical creatures cast aside. "Let me help you."

Neville had to clear his head of her silvery eyes, soft and molten, the smell of her – fresh and clean, new but familiar. She was making him crazy, what with her abrupt changes of conversation, her inability to concentrate, the way she skirted around some topics in that infuriating way of hers. And the scrumptious tea that he'd have to figure out how to make; was it affecting his brain too much? How could he even be considering the prospect?

"Please," her plea was said with her lips barely a few centimetres from his. He felt the puff of air on them, eyes locked with hers in an intense stare.

His mind ran on at an amazing speed. He was looking for a place to stay, he was struggling, he was lonely – to be entirely honest with himself.

And yet… he hadn't spoken to her in ages, he knew little of her other than the persona she'd presented back in their school days. He would be incredibly uncomfortable in her company, the way she went overboard more often than not.

He felt torn for a few moments, thoughts flickering from the flat he'd grown strangely attached to all the way to how he desperately wanted – needed – a change of something in his life.

Luna represented, in his mind, everything that he wasn't. She was not self-conscious, she spoke her mind, she was brave, she was powerful, and she was intelligent. She was everything he hoped to be, kind, giving, and thoughtful. Highly insightful as well, if her quick assessment of his predicament was anything to go by. If her logic – surprisingly accurate – was anything to go by.

But sweet Merlin, was she spontaneous!

And maybe a little part of Neville had always wanted to act in the moment, be the Gryffindor the Sorting Hat had presented.

"Yes," he said impulsively. "After all, it is the day of the Trembling Hurdler,"

Smiling impishly at him, she stood and all but skipped to the fireplace, gesturing between him and the dusty thing. "Go on," she urged.

Neville's eyes widened, mind still caught on the sudden decision he'd made. He wasn't quite ready to face the consequences of that choice, and balked at her enthusiasm. "What? You want me to get my things… right now?" His voice didn't quite crack, but it came very close.

"Now is always the best time," she said, daunting in the way she said the thing he needed to hear.

"Oh – but,"

She shook her head. "The only butt will be yours through this fireplace," she said, trying on a strange accent that made Neville stop, even in his panic, and laugh. What was going on? Was he really going to do it?

For the second time that day, late into the night, Neville found that he was dragging himself through the fireplace. And then again, and again, until all the boxes were safely stowed in Luna's home.

Adrenaline coursed through Neville's veins, making every nerve ending feel as though it were on fire. His senses came alive, the bright lights and colours of Luna's house all but burning his eyes when compared to the relative darkness of his flat.

For the first time, Neville realised how musty – dusty, as well – his flat smelled. He stepped through for the final time, wondering if it was all just a dream or if he was truly mad, and looked around. The walls were bare, the windows closed, and the rooms stripped of everything. It was how he felt, as well; empty but ready for something new.

Maybe that "something" would turn out to be a disaster – living with Luna could go either way – but he believed he was ready for anything. If he wasn't ready, he could always go to that island away from all civilization.

He left a note on the door to the landlord, saying he'd moved out, walked on the creaky floor of his flat for one last time, and fell through the fire, the way he always seemed to.

Luna caught him on the other side, bringing to mind the thought of a knight in shining armour – modified a bit as things pertaining to Luna usually were – and he felt a smile light up his features. By god, he'd really done it.

"I was right," she said as he made to straighten up. "Your hair is marvellously soft. Welcome home, Neville"

Home.

Neville looked around. The warm colours were inviting and comfortable, and everything had a decoration on it. Maybe he could add to those decorations, make the space a bit more like his own.

Home.

He had to see what it would look like in the morning, of course, but for the moment he was happier than ever before.

Home. Maybe.

* * *

**Here's the chaper, later than anticipated... I must say, Luna is rather hard to characterize, so I hope she doesn't seem too out of character. Also: no, she didn't drug Neville. She has good intentions. **

**I think. :D**

**Review?**


	4. A Future Brighter Than a Heliopath

Neville regained consciousness feeling clear-headed and very, very embarrassed. There was no moment of incomprehension for him, no pause between waking up and remembering that he had basically moved in with Luna Lovegood.

Oh, Merlin. What was he going to do?

It had seemed like a reasonable idea and suggestion, but thinking on it, Neville realized he would be imposing a great deal without offering anything in return for her kindness. What kind of a person did such a thing, even when invited by a friend? If such a person did exist, it wasn't Neville.

Yet, there he was, imposing and acting like he had nowhere else to go. Oh.

But… if there was one thing his gran had taught him in all her years of caring for him, it was that he was to uphold the highest possible manners at all times. That did not include impulsively moving into Luna's house, even with no other home to go back to.

His heart pounded and his cheeks went warm. Neville's breathing sped up, and he thought he might get ill right there in the comfortable bed. Comfortable bed. He was in a bed, in Luna's house. He had stayed the night. He had moved all of his things to the house. He had agreed to a spur-of-the-moment offer. He was living with Luna. His breath sped up, but he forced it to be even. Hyperventilation never ended well, and he wanted to keep his head. It had to be sorted out soon, and he had to have all of his mental capacities with him.

The day of the Trembling Warbler had passed, and with it Neville's bravery and impetuosity. He had to go straighten things out immediately with Luna; that was the only definite thing whooshing through his brain.

Neville drew the covers back, only to find that he was dressed in nothing but his boxers. A flush reinstated itself at his cheeks, spreading up to his hairline and around to the back of his neck. Luna had told him to get comfortable, and he'd stripped down almost completely? Sweet God. What had been in that tea? It was meant, in his head, as a rhetorical question, but he really did want the answer.

He hopped out of the bed, inspecting the room. His eyes caught the view out of the window, and for a second he imagined that he was at the top of a rather tall tower. Then, as he approached it warily, he realized they were simply at the top of a hill. The look out of the window was stunning, and despite getting to sleep at some ungodly hour the night before, Neville noticed that the sun was still low on the horizon.

Turning his back to the window and shivering slightly – he was still hardly dressed, after all – Neville began a search for clothes. He managed to locate his cloak from the previous day, but there was no sign of his other possessions. Not even the clothes he'd been wearing under the cloak. They were probably still downstairs, he thought, along with the boxes of things.

Helpless, he pulled on the cloak despite feeling foolish without wearing much underneath, Neville made his way to the staircase. It was in the middle of the circular, rather large, bedroom, and there was one more room above – supposedly Mr Lovegood's. Neville's mind lost its train of thought when he looked down the stairs, right in the middle of the handlebars, where he could see a sharp descent down a few stories. It was terrifying, and that was from a person that had spent seven years living in Gryffindor tower and had been required to walk down a mind-numbing number of stairs every day.

Of course, it didn't help that he'd had more than his fair share of mishaps along the way.

Neville descended, passing Luna's room. A short look around showed him that she was not there, and he began to feel strange, looking at her things without permission.

With that in mind, Neville continued his trek to the kitchen, passing a level of the house that was full of a variety of different things, all cluttered about. It looked like an invention-workshop-thing, but he wasn't sure. As it was, he spent little time thinking on it, already down to the main floor of the house.

The circular space was, upon inspection, larger than his room upstairs – gosh, _his_ room – and he deduced that the structure got thinner the higher up it went. How curious, but so _completely_ Luna.

He eyed the teacups that were strewn on the floor from their conversation, and felt guilt bubble up. Had he taken advantage of her suggestion? Maybe it had been the power of the drink that had pushed her to offer…

There was no doubt in Neville's mind that Luna had been full of good intentions concerning the tea, and was sure she hadn't tried to take advantage of _him_. Even if she had been trying to do so, what could she gain from having him agree to share her house with her? Only the fear of injury and a rather tall, broad-shouldered, ball of nervous energy that had trouble speaking to people.

Neville scampered over to the teacups and began to pick them up, cleaning around the space as well. He felt bad for moving in so suddenly, and resolved to make his move as easy on Luna as possible. That included cleaning, which he enjoyed anyway.

Where was Luna, anyway?

A small part of him wanted to find her and yell at her for putting them in such an awkward position, given that she probably didn't need him cluttering her life up, and he was not very comfortable living somewhere without paying rent or doing something in return.

He would have to ask her about that paying rent business when he found her, he resolved.

Neville turned to the counters and decided to give them a good wiping down, reasoning that she was probably out and would be back soon. He set upon his task, wetting a cloth and using it to wipe the counters. They were cold to the touch, probably made of some fancy stone, and they added to the homey feel of the room, in spite of being cold and neutral-coloured.

He found the sink to be full of dishes, and made himself a mental note to wash them a bit later. And breakfast. He would fix breakfast after that. Neville felt a bit more confident after making the plan, and began cleaning. It helped clear his mind, and he appreciated the menial task for that, as well.

Just as he was watering the plants that were levitated in front of the window, a small hand tapped him on the shoulder.

Neville jumped, dropping the small watering can and spilling water everywhere. In the process, he hit his hand on the sharp corner of the counter, shouted out in pain, tripped over his feet, and landed on the floor. Luna gave him an amused smile and extended an arm.

Neville was tempted to ask where she'd come from, because he was sure that the front door had not opened, but decided against it when she said. "Hello, Neville."

Her tone of voice was bubbly and elated, and he noticed she was still in pyjamas. He opened his mouth to ask, but felt water begin to seep in through his cloak. His priorities changed for the time being, and he said, "Er, thanks." He took her offered hand and stood up, feeling grateful for her willingness to help.

Then, he said, "I need – if you know where they are, of course – my clothes. You see, the water… it spilled. I'm wet, because… you know."

Neville cursed his uncoordinated tongue and the way his brain refused to send clear messages to it, and resorted to pointing out his wet clothes and shrugging apologetically.

"Your belongings are under the stairs," she pointed, and Neville wondered why he hadn't noticed them before. "But the most important thing for you to find right now, I think, is your tongue."

She nodded knowingly, walking over to the boxes and things without missing a beat, disappearing before she could see Neville's small grin. He ran behind her, trying to catch up while at the same time hoping he wouldn't trip and she indicated the small pile.

Then, with a wave of her wand, Neville's life floated into the air, going up the stairs in an orderly line. Nothing seemed to faze her, and Luna watched with satisfaction as, with the aid of her spell, the packages arranged themselves in his room. She put her wand back behind her ear and brushed her hands together with an easy smile.

"That was amazing… Luna, how did you- What spell is…?" Neville had been more or less resigned to levitating everything up three stories by hand, one by one, and had never dreamed of being able to send everything up at once. In fact, he was still looking at the nook beneath the stairs that had recently been stuffed with everything he'd ever owned.

A fair bit past _completely stunned, _Neville looked back to Luna beseechingly.

She shrugged, "If you had ever met my mum, you would have been falling over in shock," she giggled, albeit a little sadly. "She experimented with spells as well as potions. More potions, actually, but she did come up with useful spells..."

Neville stayed quiet.

"I was reading something of hers – some notes – and the spell was there. She was brilliant. Brighter and more brilliant than any heliopath could ever be."

He stayed silent, feeling meek and helpless as her voice went quiet. He watched her eyes look into the distance, out of a window, but didn't know what to do to get her back to the present.

He felt terrible for drudging up such memories for her, knowing personally how difficult losing family members was – loss in terms of sanity or in terms of death; it didn't really matter – yet he still wasn't sure how to console her, or if she really needed any support.

He remembered the way it had felt back when he was first told what had happened to his parents, and the many times people had told him there was no hope. Neville acknowledged that he still felt that pang of loss very hard, even after all those years of visiting them in the hospital and telling himself that it was all going to work out for the better. Even if their condition got better, the feeling didn't – the dread and expectance and then, ultimately, disappointment.

Or maybe that was just him.

He then realized that the loss had happened suddenly for Luna, and that she hadn't been too young to remember it, like he'd been. She'd seen the experiment blow up in her mother's face, killing her. That must have been painful, even for Luna who claimed not to be too saddened by the incident.

"It's not like I'll never see her again," mumbled Luna, and Neville wanted to commend her for being a million times braver and stronger than he could be. Despite knowing with that startling certainty that Luna had, that she'd see her mum again, it couldn't be easy for her.

Neville wanted to hug or otherwise console Luna – he knew how much he sometimes needed a hug – but he wasn't sure if it would be welcome.

So, instead, he went to the stove to put on some water. Comforting tea would be in order.

Or maybe some hot cocoa. Neville thought on it, and decided on the latter, thinking it to be far more comforting. Especially with the weather outside being so cold.

If he could find them, he'd also put in a few of those huge sugar balls – marshmallows.

She'd taken a seat by the time he was done, looking a little lost, but she was no longer mumbling and looked far more at ease than she had earlier. Neville was grateful.

He handed her a mug of the hot chocolate, watching with delight as she drank it quickly, gulping the warm liquid. When she was done, Neville noticed a thin line of chocolate ringing her upper lip, and found it endearing.

He pointed at his upper lip in explanation, not trusting his mouth at all, and she used her tongue to clean the chocolate off. Then, at his raised eyebrows and astounded expression, she giggled.

"You look less stressed when you smile," she commented, placing the mug back on the table. Neville snatched it up and went to the sink. "It's nice."

He didn't know what to answer. "Thank you," he whispered. Then, with his voice sounding more substantial, "Would you like more?" The short sentences he uttered helped him keep what he said under control. It was a rather stilted way of speaking, but it was better than accidentally offending Luna.

She nodded, "That chocolate is from Peru, you know."

Neville hummed, nodding at her.

"It's why the chocolate is so good. It's dark, mostly cocoa. I got it when I was researching in South America, you know."

"I've never been farther than Hogwarts." His mouth responded all on its own. Neville desperately wanted to stop talking, knowing that staying silent was usually better. "Let alone to South America! How is it there?"

Luna gaped at him, silent, and Neville turned around to see what was happening. She looked him up and down and then nodded, as if she'd just proven something to herself. In fact, she looked rather smug. "Do you know how to pack a suitcase?" She questioned.

Neville was thrown by her question but rebounded quickly. "Of course," he said. "I always packed my trunk for Hogwarts by myself."

"Hmm…" Luna was deep in thought, and Neville took the moment to finish with the cocoa. He poured it into the mug and brought it back to her. "Does high altitude cause nausea for you?" She finally asked.

Neville shrugged, wondering if he should check for a fever, because she was sounding somewhat delirious. "I wouldn't know," he answered truthfully. "I've never been one for mountain climbing," he revealed seriously, trying for a joke.

It missed its mark, and Luna just nodded again, "We'll have to travel to Peru sometime in March," she announced, clapping her hands together with a satisfied smile on her face. "It simply will not do for you not to see the cousin of the Blibbering Humdinger. It is simply magnificent!"

Luna took the mug and began nodding quickly, cocking her head occasionally and waving her arms, as though she were talking to herself.

And with that, she took the stairs up to her bedroom and disappeared from view. Neville stared after her for a long moment, trying to figure out what had happened but deciding against it eventually.

Luna was too much to try and figure out. Too much charisma and… strangeness for one person, in fact.

And he still hadn't questioned her about the tea. Or about the living arrangements. Or about how long he was staying and whether he should be looking into flats already… Neville mentally hit himself, again, for having such an incompetent memory, then cringed when an image of Professor Snape popped up in his head at the thought. The man had insulted Neville more times that anyone could possibly count, but Neville had begun to see, as of late, the truth in those insults.

Those thoughts made him feel even worse, so Neville decided to change into some dry clothes – though his had dried out partially after the long comfort-Luna-and-make-hot-cocoa session.

He used the cloth to mop up the water, which was still dripping steadily from the stone countertop onto the floor, wrung it out over the sink, and then left it to dry.

Then, he was hit with the absurdity of the situation, which in itself had still not sunk in completely.

Neville's mind did a proper spin as he counted in his head all of the things that had occurred.

First and foremost, he'd moved in with Luna Lovegood. What a strange, out of the blue, unanticipated offer. And he'd taken it, which was even stranger, more random, and had been even less anticipated.

Then, second, he'd slept peacefully, a rare occurrence.

And, of course, he'd fixed hot cocoa for Luna Lovegood.

And tried to comfort her.

And his mind was swirling with everything, making him dizzy, until one thought battled and beat out the rest: _we're going to South America in March._

The ludicrousness of the situation was almost laughable, but Neville wondered if he'd be able to keep it together enough to laugh without falling to tears.

He'd also left behind his home of many years – okay, maybe not many, but a fair amount of time had passed, nonetheless. He'd uprooted himself from his life. He'd broken out of his shell.

Was it so bad that he wanted to put the pieces back together and go hide again?

Yes, he decided. It was. If one good thing was to come of this, it was that he could try to change his attitude about things – and about life. And he suspected Luna was a better candidate than many to learn from. She had her life sorted out to the point where she could ask some variable – such as him – into it with no trouble.

Neville sort of admired her, and as he walked into the bedroom to find all of his trunks and brown cardboard boxes unpacking themselves, he saw where her brilliance had come from. The conversation about her mother had been brief with little details given, but it had given him a little insight into the Lovegood life.

Her mother.

She'd experimented with spells and potions.

She could have been an intense, intelligent addition to the Wizarding World, but had been met with an untimely death. It was tragic, for if all of her spells were as practical and effective as the one Luna used, she could have helped many people around the Wizarding community.

It must have been a great blow, her death.

Neville appreciated that Luna hadn't asked about his family in return for her speaking of hers. He couldn't handle that, even though a small part of him thought she might already know, being the way she was.

Neville sat on his bed, mulling over the morning and existence and the different things that happen in life that shape and change people. It was a rather serious train of thought for before-noon, but Neville didn't mind.

With a start, he realized he had nothing to do, and if Luna disappeared the way she had that morning – did she have a job? What did she do? – he would be alone.

What had he done back in the old flat when he was alone? Neville couldn't remember, though he suspected it was something pathetic.

Life with Luna was, as he'd decided before, going to be a new opportunity for him. He needed to learn how to speak to people and be perceptive like she was. He wanted to learn to be honest, and how to speak up for himself. Also, he thought wryly, how to keep his mouth shut sometimes. Learning how to change the subject abruptly would be nice, too.

But most of all, Neville wanted to learn how she was so at ease with life. It seemed like a nice way to live, with no worries and little stress.

Bouncing up and down slightly, feeling like an eleven year-old again, Neville decided he would work on his Herbology skills in his time at the Lovegood's, however long or short a period of time that might be.

Neville descended the stairs again, feeling more confident and then feeling proud of himself. Progress was progress, after all, and if he wasn't frightened of the stairs, progress had been made.

However, a look around Luna's room was, again, not fruitful. The room, sparsely decorated but full of Luna-esque things at the same time, was empty.

"Luna?" His voice echoed, and a small blush heated his cheeks. "Luna, are you here?"

No answer.

It wasn't just that he wanted her permission to leave, but he wanted to know where she'd gone. How did she disappear like that?

Neville quickly scribbled a note: he was going to the library to pick up some research books, and would be back quickly to help with lunch.

With that, Neville opened the front door, stepped out, hugged his cloak in closer against the biting wind, turned on his heel, and disapparated.

In his head, he added: _I'll also be stopping off at the hospital, but don't ask why. _

It wasn't anything personal, but he didn't like discussing the mental or physical health – or lack thereof – of his family. And, thankfully, Neville knew Luna would never push for answers.

* * *

**I apologize for the wait, but there was the fourth chapter. **

**:D Review?**


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